Page 54 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
“You seem to be in great spirits.”
“I am. I have everything to lose, so I’m going to enjoy my time even if there’s not much.”
Max paused, salt-and-pepper shakers in hand. “Mom. No. You’re not going anywhere. You told me yourself, the numbers are on your side.”
“But not everyone is lucky. I’m going to get my life in order and make sure everyone I love is cared for and happy, and you are at the top of that list.” She deposited a serving platter of chicken adobo on the table, placed a kiss on Max’s shoulder, and went back to the stove. What was happening? A shoulder kiss? Since when? Surrendering to fate instead of staying strong? Max frowned, feeling uneven.
“Are we still on for your appointment tomorrow?” she asked, adjusting the forks just so, the way her mother had always insisted. No large gaps at the bottom.Silverware should never float toward the center of the table, Maxine!
“I’ve been thinking, and you don’t have to accompany me.”
Max straightened. “Well, I am. I cleared my calendar.”
“I refuse to be a burden,” she said in a singsongy voice, almost as if she’d just declared it was Wine Down Wednesday.
“You’re not a burden.”
“Good. Then I’ll go alone.” She adjusted one of the knives, probably because it wasn’t just so, and then on second thought, knocked the sucker askew.
“Who are you and what have you done with my mother?”
“I’m a fun mom now. I’m dying.”
“Hey. You are not. Stop that.”
But nothing she said stopped it. Throughout dinner, her mother oohed and aahed over how vibrant the food tasted, how Max’s top made her eyes look especially beautiful, and how her father had smartly figured out how to fix the leaf blower without having to take it in for repairs. In other words, this woman bore no resemblance to her actual mother. Next to them, her father ate his meal happily, enjoying all the new compliments, while Max moved her food around her plate, taking it all inwith concern. A sense of doom had fallen over her in the past thirty minutes. Her hands trembled, and her skin felt clammy. Her mother was sick and no longer herself, and her father didn’t seem to register the shift on either front. It fell to her to steer the ship.
By the time she kissed her mother’s cheek and gave her father an affectionate smack on the arm, she was almost overcome with fear, and her mind moved at a rapid pace, conjuring all sorts of horrific scenarios and playing them out one at a time. She needed a distraction or a salve. Honestly, she knew how to achieve both. There was only one place she wanted to be, and that was next to Ella Baker.
FOURTEEN
The Green Sweater Incident
The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled in only after dark in a sleepy neighborhood like this one with just the occasional hum of a passing car. Ella sat cross-legged at the desk in her makeshift office, a half-empty mug of tea cooling beside her. She was deep in the early stages of her second commissioned cover, sketching lines with careful precision, the glow of her tablet the only real light in the room.
That is, until her phone lit up with a soft buzz. Max.
Can I see you tonight?
Her skin prickled, and her stomach tightened; the idea of seeing Max sent a rush of anticipation through her, eclipsing the fatigue of the day. She dropped her stylus, barely noticing as it rolled off the edge of her desk, her entire focus narrowing to the three little dots flickering on the screen—Max was still typing.
Please.
She swallowed. That single word unraveled something inside her. Max wasn’t just asking. She needed this. Neededher.
Ella’s pulse pounded as she typed back.
Tell me where.
Max’s response came instantly.
My place.
An address followed.
Ella was already reaching for her keys, somehow aware of the gravity of the request.
On my way.
